


When a Nickname is Perfect for Its Owner

by artemis1967



Series: When a Demon Walks the Earth [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Dark Dean Winchester, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Hurt Sam, M/M, NSFW Art, Rough Sex, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis1967/pseuds/artemis1967
Summary: Blood is the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up. The need for it vibrating through his body and he wants more. It’s all that matters right now. Opening his eyes to a strange environment is the second thing he notices.





	When a Nickname is Perfect for Its Owner

Blood is the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up. The need for it vibrating through his body and he wants more. It’s all that matters right now. Opening his eyes to a strange environment is the second thing he notices. Nothing is familiar. From the huge bed he’s lying to the dark walls and chandeliers illuminating the surrounding, everything is strange and scary.

The effort he has to make to sit on the bed is Herculean—abstinence leaving his body weak. Then he becomes aware of his nudity and other signs that tell a story of sex and violence. There is dried blood, scratches, bites, fingerprints, and come all over his skin. That's when he remembers his brother and what happened between them. And he’s inevitably lost to his addiction again.

Sam’s fight for the purity of his blood and soul over the years seems useless now. He needs blood and sex. He needs that sense of power that comes from the blood. So, he gets out of bed, the intention of searching for Dean and blood. With some difficulty, he walks towards the door. The thirst for blood is so raw he doesn't even care about clothes. Normal Sam would be mortified by it, but he's beyond those emotions right now.

When he opens the door, familiarity and fear hit him like a brick wall.

Hell.

The crying and screaming, as well as the foul stench filling the air, are still the same. Sam had nightmares for months after being here for the last time. But decay and despair don't bother him at the moment, all that makes sense in his life is Dean and blood.

Having no idea how he got here, or why, Sam starts walking down the hall, and putting one foot in front of the other gets more manageable despite the tremors. His thirst is still intense, however.

Then a sudden impact knocks him against the wall, a solid body blocking his movements. “Well, well. What do we have here? Sam Winchester himself.” The mockery in the male voice is hard to miss.

“Let me go.” And that is a request and a warning.

For some reason, the blood from this demon isn’t appealing to him. Sam needs his brother.

The laugh against his ear is biting, “I don’t think so, bitch. Someone naked and covered in cum can only want one thing.”

And the erection rubbing against his ass is massive. His attempt to dislodge the demon is futile, leaving only one alternative. Concentrating, he closes his eyes, drawing on what remains of his power. His head hurts, and he feels blood running down his nose, but that doesn’t stop him.

“Argh,” the demon grunts, and Sam feels more than sees the black smoke leaving his host. It’s only the wall that keeps him from falling when he’s freed from the demon, though, the inert body falling to the floor. Just then, Sam notices other demons watching the scene, fear in their eyes. Collecting some of the strength left, he stands to his full height, avoiding thinking about his nakedness.

With the back of his hand, he wipes the blood from his nose before facing the demons and asking, “Where is Dean Winchester?”

“We don’t know,” a woman rushes to answer. “Maybe he’s with Crowley.”

Crowley, of course, one of those responsible for his brother’s current situation.

“Where?” He puts all his anger in his voice.

A trembling finger points to the right. “Go straight and turn left at the end of the corridor,” the same woman says. Her appearance is terrible, tangled hair, and open wounds on her skin. Avoiding any feeling of empathy, he turns in the indicated direction, and despite the lascivious glances at him, no one touches him anymore as he staggers down the hall. Some laugh, others whistle and say obscenities, but that's all. Still, the term hell has never seemed so appropriate before.

As his need grows, Sam can only think of his demon brother and how perfect his blood is. Mapping every corner of his mouth with his tongue, Sam looks for the remaining taste of it. But there is nothing, and his despair increases. Dean and blood are the motivation that keeps him going; naked and helpless, but more than it, stripped of his dignity. He’s no longer Sam Winchester, the hunter and legacy of the Men of Letters, but just an addict who can do whatever it takes to satisfy his need for blood.

Sam almost cries when he sees the imposing door. There’s no doubt it’s the right place. The door is a perfect copy of the sculpture of Rodin. He has always admired it, but now his contemplation has a personal meaning to him. The shadows surrounding the Thinker are a perfect representation of what he is now, devoid of his own volition, at the mercy of blood and a brother who’s a demon. An addiction that keeps him going and makes him approach the door, trembling and thirsty. It opens automatically, and without hesitation, he enters the room.

“Welcome, Moose. I was informed you were here. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The King of Hell is sitting on his throne and well dressed in his usual black costume. When Crowley looks at his body—long and appreciatively—the vulnerability Sam feels is almost paralyzing.

“What the hell happened to you?” The King of Hell laughs at his own joke.

“My brother happened. But you must know that,” he accuses.

“I don't keep a leash on him, you know.”

“But you should. He’s your pet now.”

“Oh, my dear moose. You have never been more wrong.”

The demon doesn’t try to hide his look of desire directed at Sam’s body during the conversation.

“Dean Winchester has always been hard to deal with, but his demonic version is impossible. I'd say I'm disappointed.”

Sam laughs, but there's nothing funny about it. “His plan backfired.”

“I don’t think so.”

The enigmatic answer doesn’t dissipate the apprehension insidiously arising in his senses. But it’s interrupted in the next second because Sam finds himself kneeling before the King of Hell.

“Much better this way,” the demon says as he touches Sam’s chin.

Sam doesn’t fight it, remaining obediently in the place to which he is transported. But this closeness makes him want, the prolonged abstinence almost unbearable for him. And Crowley's blood looks like a welcome delicacy in Sam's current state.

Green eyes stare into his for a moment, and realization makes the demon smile.

“Oh, sweetheart. I see the addiction in you, the thirst. And It’s beautiful.” Cold fingers caress Sam's jaw, and he closes his eyes, seeking the strange contact.

Sam doesn’t say anything, but opens his eyes when Crowley speaks again, “We can make a deal, my dear.”

Deal with a demon is never a good thing. Sam Fucking Winchester more than anyone knows that. Still, hunger is consuming him, and the possibility of having demonic blood filling his mouth makes Sam ask, “What would it be?”

Smiling, Crowley contours Sam's lips with his thumb. And that should be repulsive, but it’s not.

“I give you what you need, without limits, and you help me capture Dean. My pet just needs a few lessons to learn how to behave.”

Fingers touch Sam’s neck and collarbone. The deal is tempting, though Sam has no intention of letting Crowley lay his hands on his brother.

“Yeah,” he says as seductively as he can despite his tremors and weakness, licking his dry lips for a better effect. It works. Crowley's smile is full, and the demon wastes no time getting up from his throne and helping Sam to his feet. His head is pulled down, and the deal is sealed with a kiss. However, all Sam can think of is the picture of the kiss between Bobby and Crowley years ago, and how shocked he was about that. Now here he is making a deal with the devil incarnate and not concerned about the consequences at all.

A touch of Crowley's fingers on his forehead and Sam is dizzy for a few seconds. Heat runs through his body, and when he realizes it, he’s clean and unmarked.

“I didn't know you have the power of healing,” and Sam is genuinely surprised by it. He thought only angels and archangels could do that.

“This is just for special people, my dear. And I prefer my partners clean and without unwanted marks. Aesthetics is everything, and it's a shame to mark something so beautiful.”

A soft hand explores his chest until it stops at one of Sam’s nipples. His extreme sensitivity always makes him moan when it’s touched.

“Lovely! I like the sensitive ones.” Then the fingers shift to the other nipple, both getting hard with the stimulation. But Sam has reached his limit, and there’s only one thought in his mind: blood.

“Crowley, please.”

“If they beg, I love them even more,” the King of Hell says before transferring his hand to Sam’s left asscheek.

“Please,” Sam begs again, the need almost too much to tolerate.

“I'll take care of you, love.”

Then a bed materializes in seconds, red satin sheets conflicting with the darkroom.

“In bed, honey, and on your back. I want to see every reaction as I shake your world.” The demon's arrogance reminds Sam of another demon, one who owns his heart, though.

Without much thought about what’s happening, Sam climbs into bed, settling himself against the soft pillows. And spreading his legs isn’t as hard as he imagined.

_Fuck it all! _

Sam never had a chance. Not since his mother made a deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. He never had any control over his life. Autonomy has never been an option in his life. So, he opens his legs to the King of Hell, positioning his body in an undeniable invitation.

With a snap of fingers, Crowley is naked, and though he’s not as big as his brother, the demon’s cock is still a respectable size. And of all the emotions Sam could feel, the sweet expectation is the last one he wants, but that's what happens, and he can almost taste the metallic blood in his mouth already.

Crowley, even in his tiny size, looks like a giant in his pomposity, and desire for blood invades Sam. Again. At this stage, he would be able to sell his mother's soul for a drop. And it's a relief when the King of Hell finally settles between his legs.

“Your brother is handsome with those full lips and freckles, but you, my dear, you are the pretty one. Your perfect eyebrows and pointed nose are a true masterpiece, not to mention your wonderful body.” And Sam almost believes what Crowley is saying. But despite the satisfaction of his ego, the thirst is still present and eroding his insides.

“Crowley, please.”

Focused on the King of Hell, Sam only notices his brother's presence when it's too late. Crowley's head is torn from his body by Death's scythe, blood splashing on Sam’s chest and face. The noise of the head hitting the floor makes Sam shudder, and the lifeless body falls over him. Sam closes his eyes at the bizarre scene, but the smell of blood makes him salivate. Before he can do anything about it, though, the weight comes off him and powerful arms pull his trembling body out of bed.

He’s dragged by his brother, and consciousness about his surroundings only returns when cold water runs over his feverish body, making him shiver more.

“You have ten minutes.” His brother's voice is pure anger.

It doesn't take five minutes for Sam to get rid of the blood on his skin, his actions driven by fear and need.

There are no towels or clothes in the bathroom, of course, and he wants to scream in frustration. All he does, however, is go back to the throne room to face what his brother planned for him.

Crowley's body is on the floor beside the bed, and the sheets have been removed, the white mattress looking so pure and desolate in such a sordid place.

The demon sprawled on the throne—naked and with a huge erection—is an addition that evokes contradictory feelings in Sam. Tension and attraction build quickly in his more than sensitized nerves. His thirst is stronger than ever, powered by the smell of blood in the air.

“In bed, bitch!” Any rebellion he intends to cause dies as soon as he sees Dean play with a knife over his palm. His need for blood turning him into a puppet, at the mercy of his brother's wishes.

Goosebumps break across Sam’s skin when drops of water drip down his body, and without any finesse, he gets in the bed, kneeling awkwardly in the middle of it.

“Nope,” Dean says. “You know how I like my bitch.”

Preferably on all fours. Sam perceived that. Maybe the position is less personal. Or maybe it’s Sam's predisposition to be nothing more than a whore. Used to it now, he turns around, showing his ass to Dean. Then he spreads his knees and rests his chest on the mattress, open to Dean's gaze, and the vulnerability of it doesn't bother him anymore. There are no more limit or reserve, just Sam offering himself for the taking, for Dean to do whatever he wants with his body.

All Dean needs is a good fuck. And it doesn't matter who is available usually. But seeing his brother so eager for Crowley made his blood boil. Sam needs a lesson, and Dean’ll fuck him in submission. He’ll ravage every inch of his little brother's soft skin and do it over and over until Sam understands he's taken. And the fact that it was he who put Sam in this situation in the first place is an unimportant detail. Dean expected some resistance at least, but Sam behaved like a slut.

“You need to learn I don’t share.” His big brother's possessiveness takes on totally different contours, and Sam knows the threat is real, but he has no intention of provoking it.

In an instant, a strong body covers his, and the same deep voice says against his ear, “You let that filthy demon remove all my marks, bitch. I’ll have to do them again.”

And his big brother does just that, marking every inch of skin again and again until he's satisfied with the result.

When the demon finally enters him, exhaustion and the effects of abstinence are almost too much. Barely able to keep his eyes open, Sam isn’t strong enough to fight the pain of his brother splitting him open, and the rhythm is brutal for his fragile—and marked once again—body. Dean's hands are cold on his hot skin, and they move Sam's hips against him quickly.

Black spots begin appearing in Sam’s vision, and he squeezes his eyes shut, intent on getting lost in the blessing of unconsciousness. Then a hand is over his mouth, and the taste of blood makes his heart race. He swallows it like a thirsty man, sucking as much as he can from the small cut.

The rhythm of Dean’s hips is deliberately calculated to punish his little brother, but it makes no sense if Sam isn’t awake. And that's why Dean opens the cut in his hand only when he realizes Sam is about to pass out.

The effects are immediate, Sam’s dick filling and the powerful energy bringing life to his body. And it's like awakening after a restful sleep.

Dean can feel power being transferred and Sam's body reacting to it. It's a beautiful thing to witness, especially knowing he’s responsible for that.

While Sam sips the blood in his mouth, his brother continues mounting him, like a fucking bitch in heat. And it doesn't take long for him to participate, thirst for blood giving way to sexual desire. Sam's need for it is intense too. The demon's cock rubs against his prostate continuously, igniting a white, hot burning fire inside him.

As soon as his brother is participating enough, Dean closes the cut, hearing a pathetic whimper in consequence. He prefers celebrating his victory without having to deal with a wayward little brother.

“It’s much more than you deserve today.”

Dean is greeted with a bitchface, “Fuck you.”

There's a drop of blood on the corner of Sam's mouth, and it's a waste to lose it. Wrapping his fingers in the long strands, Dean pulls Sam's head until he reaches his mouth. The little drop disappears in a second, and his brother opens his mouth at the light touch of Dean's tongue. It's an invitation, one he accepts, kissing his little brother roughly, tongues, teeth, and the taste of blood making everything more urgent.

“You mean, fuck me,” Dean growls against Sam's mouth.

And Sam can't deny that too caught in the desperation of need and want, even aware of the sin they're committing.

“Fuck me, Dean.” 

Dean's eyes go black as he smirks, "And who do you belong to?"

“You. Just you.”

Satisfied, Dean releases his grip on the soft hair, forcing Sam's neck against the mattress while the other hand is on his brother’s lower back, accentuating the perfect arc of his back, which enhances Dean's desire to dominate and subdue. Every thrust is branded with ownership, and he savors the moans coming from Sam’s mouth.

John was the only man Dean obeyed without question. But the time of obedience belongs to the past. Everyone in this damn place will obey him, starting with his little brother.

The urgency of sex grabs Dean attention again, and he pulls his cock all the way out until only the large tip is inside, slamming back into his brother, hard.

Heat spreads from Sam’s cock to the rest of his body with every impulse of the demon. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“So responsive for me, Sammy,” Dean praises him. “True bitch material.”

And it turns Sam on despite it being filthy and disgusting. His balls draw up tight, and two more thrusts are all it takes for him to reach his climax. Pleasure envelops him, and Dean fucks him through it. Sam’s boneless after that and the only thing he can do is whimper while still being fucked relentlessly.

His brother's ass clenches down around Dean's cock, releasing the beast inside him, body colliding against Sam's with loud slaps. Dean picks up speed, both hands forcing his brother's shoulder blades on the mattress. And it’s the grunts of pain from the man beneath him that triggers Dean's orgasm.

The strength of his brother's climax is such that Sam has the impression that the whole room shakes. And he can only feel—ashamed and helpless—his insides being filled with the demon's release.

Dean collapses on top of Sam, and no doubt it's the most powerful orgasm he has ever felt. Smiling, he tries to catch his breath, nose buried in Sam's sweaty hair. And this is the perfect celebration for his victory over Crowley. Only when his brother starts writhing under him does Dean ease out, and he's sure he'll never get tired of seeing Sam like it, wrecked and leaking his come.

Sam’s hole is sore and raw, and he winces at the moment a finger is pressed inside him. Then something touches his buttock, and Sam barely breathes. The unmistakable shape of a knife slides over his skin, though it doesn't quite cut him. But the instant his body can relax, Sam is immobilized by an invisible force, and the knife cuts into his skin. He screams, surprised and terrified.

“No!” Pain isn’t unusual for him—Lucifer was very creative in that department—but this is his big brother, his protector, his everything. So, it's a shock for him to be the target of his brother's knife.

Dean could have spared his brother from experiencing pain. However, he prefers not to spoil the fun. Few can scream as beautifully as Sam. What irritated him most during his torturing time was the shrieking cries of most souls. Sam isn’t like that, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is pleasant to Dean.

Working the knife precisely, he carves his initials on the right asscheek of his future consort. Everyone will know who Sam Winchester belongs to. “You're mine, Sam. Never forget that.”

His little brother also needs to understand this and accept his new fate.

Even lost in a sea of pain, Sam hears the threat behind the possessive words. And the darkness of the future he never wanted adds more tears to those already running down his face.

By the time Dean finishes the tattoo, Sam’s screams give way to low moans against the mattress. He drops the knife on it before pulling the sheet off the floor and wiping off the excess blood. Then the perfect outline of the D and W becomes visible. Pleased with his work, Dean touches the tattoo with his fingers, making the skin heal quickly. Sam needs to be healthy for the ritual. Just then he frees his brother, slapping the mark before smirking, “If I had known that I'm so good at sculpting things, I would have started earlier.”

Sam doesn't have to look to know what his brother did. And what scares him the most is that he isn't disgusted by it, but distortedly hopeful, because his brother cares enough to mark him with such intensity. That is what he chooses to believe for now.

Although the pain is completely gone, his body isn’t recovered yet, and it’s with some effort that Sam can sit on the bed. “You used me, you son of a bitch.” This is more an observation than an accusation. After all that happened, what bothers him most is his unawareness about Dean's plan.

“Don't be a drama queen, Sam. You have experience being the bait.”

“Never in the dark.” He was used deliberately, in every way. His big brother would never do something like that to him. Sam's safety has always been the number one priority for Dean. Sam is beyond the capacity for anger, though, everything leaving only a feeling of nostalgia. He never imagined he would miss Dean's over-protectiveness.

“You were never in real danger, man.”

“It’s not about taking risks, but rather to trust.”

The demon laughs out loud. “Until recently you were injecting blood into me with a syringe. I don’t think you can be trusted. By the way, if that's what you want, you have a lot of work to do.”

Trust. Something that has often been a problem between them. Sam was never worthy of his brother's trust. He was never good enough, to no one. And any change in this aspect while Dean is a demon is very unlikely. But Sam doesn't have many options here, so he nods weakly.

“As long as you give me what I need,” he tries, even knowing he is in no position to negotiate.

Dean snorts a laugh, his eyes twinkling with malice, “Sure, my little bitch. I’ll give you blood and cock every time you need it.” The demon seems pleased with himself. “And you'll love what I planned for us,” he completes.

Sam isn’t interested in Dean's plans right now; his mind focused on a disturbing realization.

Bitch.

A small word and with such an effective meaning. That’s what Sam has been for the last few years. What he was for Ruby, Lucifer, and Amelia, and what he’s going to be for his brother from now on.

It’s the absence of his own identity. It’s to have his destiny decided even before he was born.

Bitch.

That's what he is, and there's no denying it anymore. The illusion is over. And a nickname has never been so perfect before.


End file.
